


Fiction - Reprieve

by wedjateye



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-19
Updated: 2011-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:29:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wedjateye/pseuds/wedjateye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aya never bloody listens and Yohji is not at all happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fiction - Reprieve

One tube of the overhead fluorescent light flickers, the intermittent 'bzzt' barely audible  
over the sounds of hands scrabbling against the desktop and futile attempts at inhalation.  
Yohji jerks his wire tighter, maybe sensing Aya's impatience, probably wishing to end  
the macabre dance.

A sudden strident clamour startles Yohji, his body lurching, wrist tendons straining  
against dead weight. He follows the drag down to peer under the desk.

"Shit! There's a switch under here – he triggered an alarm."

Aya is already across the room, snorting at Yohji's need to state the obvious.

"Give me a minute, Abyssinian," Yohji growls, struggling to lever away the slumped  
bulk of the target in the confined space.

Aya spares him a single glance before throwing the door open. Time is pressing in. The  
corridor will be swarming with security in moments. Aya has no desire to die, trapped  
like a rat, in this dingy office.

"Catch up to me," Aya orders, noting Yohji's answering breach of mission protocol –  
Aya's real name, hissed in exasperation, as he whirls into the dimly lit hallway, katana at  
the ready.

Three burly guards charging, weapons drawn. Pity they are all coming the same way, or  
their crossfire might have scored a hit in Aya's favour. He dodges low, barely noticing  
the rapid retort of gunfire as he charges to close the gap.

The skirmish is brief and violent. Two guards bleeding out from neck and chest wounds,  
the third fumbling gracelessly against Aya's onslaught, terror written plainly on his face.

Motion stuttering, fragmenting. The toe of Aya's boot catching. An undignified slide to  
his knees. Killing blow glancing harmlessly to one side.

Heated metal presses against Aya's forehead. A single clear thought.

"Yohji's going to kill me."

The unexpected stay – the guard's finger squeezing twice before he accepts the  
emptiness of his clip. Yohji yelling incoherently as he launches himself. Wire ferocious  
now, not satisfied with a lingering caress, quenching its thirst in a pungent spray of blood.

Yohji's hands biting hotly into his shoulders. Yohji's face darkened with fury. One hand  
releasing, drawing back into a fist.

"Not worth it," Yohji snarls.

Aya feels his head snap back and forth in Yohji's renewed grip. Then cool stillness.  
Yohji standing apart, scanning their surrounds, silently waiting.

~

"Target down Abyssinian?" Omi asks from his perch on the boot of the stolen get away  
car.

"Affirmative," Aya replies, no trace of his internal shakiness manifesting in his voice.

Omi tosses the car keys to him and Aya automatically raises one hand to catch them.  
Yohji startles him by snaking one hand over his shoulder, twisting the keys from his too  
loose grip.

"You've been suicidal enough for one night," Yohji breathes into his ear. "No need  
to get the rest of us killed."

"I'm driving Chibi," Yohji calls. "Ken, you're shotgun."

Ken and Omi cast surprised looks at Aya, waiting for the explosion. Aya almost always  
drives after missions. Except when badly injured. Sometimes even then.

Aya reaches for the icy anger that sustains him through moments like this. Waits for his  
mind to blaze whitely, for his body to propel itself forward to smack Yohji down.

Nothing happens.

Ken and Omi blink askance at him, Omi's brows lowering into shrewdness after a few  
seconds. Aya looks away first, stalking to the car and sliding into the seat behind Yohji.  
Even the back of Yohji's head radiates tension, but at least Aya has a better chance of  
blocking him out from here. Only the rearview mirror to give him glimpses of Yohji's  
stony expression.

Without the distraction of driving, the trip home stretches endlessly. Far too much time  
for Aya's mind to replay events. He concentrates hard on his body's sense memories. On  
the feel of his toe catching. On a thousand different ways to transform the outcome. On  
agile rolls and twists. On training manoeuvres he will spend hours perfecting to ward  
against a similar episode.

There is still too much time. The set of Yohji's shoulders hasn't softened at all. And the  
thoughts are insidious. Creeping into the midst of smooth visualisations. Tripping him  
mentally again and again. Whispering puzzlement itching away his self control.

Yohji's going to kill me.

Shame flays Aya and he is grateful for the dark. For the rear window, cool against his  
cheek. How could his final thought not be of his sister, or at the very least of the man  
who has haunted his dreams for years? How could he face death without railing against  
the loss of his chance to avenge his family on Takatori?

"Out," Yohji spits when he pulls up in the alley behind the koneko.

"You want me to go with?" Ken asks. He backs out of the car hastily at the look on  
Yohji's face.

"What crawled up his ass?" Ken complains as Yohji accelerates away in a screech of  
tyres.

"What happened Aya?" Omi enquires, as soon as they are inside. "Why is Yohji-kun so  
upset?"

Aya wants to tell Omi to wait until morning for mission debriefing. But Omi will be sure  
to ask Yohji as soon as he gets back. And there is no telling what Yohji might say in his  
current irrational state.

Aya injects a note of weary boredom into his tone. "Before Balinese took out the target, he  
managed to trigger an alarm. Extra security showed up. It was a bit tight for a couple of  
minutes."

"And that's all Aya-kun?"

Omi has those impossibly huge eyes turned on him, and an open, innocent expression on  
his face.

"Hnn." Aya grunts, knowing Omi will not buy that as unqualified agreement. But it is the  
best he can do. Omi's skills as an interrogator are largely wasted in Weiss. The tacit  
agreement they share, to not push wherever possible, will hold Omi at bay for now. But  
Aya is under no illusion here – Omi will be watching him and Yohji closely until he is  
satisfied.

The bathroom is a welcome escape. Aya allows himself to sag, just for a few seconds,  
arms braced on either side of the sink. When he straightens up he catches sight of his face  
in the mirror. Dried red spots pattern his forehead, the largest one right in the centre. X  
marks the spot.

Aya scrubs them away viciously, ignoring the abrasions his actions leave behind.

~

Aya can't sleep. He has lain awake for hours, listening to the sounds of his teammates  
showering and getting ready for bed. Now there is only expectant silence.

Yohji can't be asleep either. Aya is sure of it. Yohji is always wired after a mission. Aya  
too. Sex between them then is frantic. Almost needy. Well, Yohji seems almost needy  
anyway. He is rarely patient enough for Aya to come to him on mission nights.

Aya slips out of bed and pads as quietly as possible to Yohji's room. The door hinges  
creak, and Aya thinks he should have waited. Too late now.

Yohji is sitting on his windowsill, blowing a long stream of smoke out into the night air.  
Aya takes that as a good sign, even as Yohji's failure to turn towards him sinks heavily  
into his gut. Yohji used to smoke sitting on his bed. It is only deference to Aya's dislike  
of the smell that made him switch to the window. So maybe he wanted Aya to come here  
tonight after all. Or at least was thinking about him.

Whatever Aya might have said is lost, as confused whispers in his brain coalesce into  
tangible thought.

When did what Yohji thinks, and what Yohji wants, become so important?

"Go away Aya, I'm not in the mood," Yohji mutters darkly, lighting another cigarette.  
The ashtray next to him is already overflowing.

Aya stares at Yohji's back mutely. Misery cements his feet to the floor.

"Did you hear me?" Yohji snarls, swinging around at last. "I really want to hurt you right  
now."

Aya feels himself flinch at the words. A small movement, but it draws a twisted smile  
from Yohji who flings his cigarette away. Aya watches the red, glowing tip arc into the  
darkness as Yohji drops to the floor and approaches with dangerous grace.

Yohji stops a few inches away to sneer, "I want to hurt you, and you don't deserve to get  
off like that."

Aya feels his facial muscles stiffen into a familiar, implacable mask. Yohji isn't going to  
get to him. Not with words. Empty, deceitful words.

Yohji reaches out then, places a hand on each of Aya's shoulders, gliding them inward  
until his thumbs rest over the pulses beating in Aya's neck.

"Is this what you want?" Yohji asks, voice gentle now, lids half lowered so that his eyes  
are obscured. Yohji slides his thumbs up and down, increasing the pressure with each  
stroke.

"Is this what you want Aya? Did you think you had to go looking for it on your own?"

Fingers slip along the tense muscles of Aya's shoulders to splay around his neck. A  
tremor runs up Aya's spine. Yohji flexes his thumbs slowly, deliberately, digging them  
in. Aya can feel his heartbeat accelerating, blood turbulent beneath Yohji's grip, pulsing  
along the column of his throat to roar behind his eardrums.

"Yohji." The word sounds like a plea to Aya, but he doesn't know what for.

"You had a captive assassin here all this time," Yohji chides, squeezing harder.

Yohji's outline starts to blur and Aya's thudding heart screams. He can't do this. He can't  
let Yohji do this. He has to… has to breathe…

Aya staggers back when Yohji releases him, nearly loses his balance altogether. When he  
finds his feet he stands still, panting. Appalled to find that he is painfully aroused.

Yohji is obviously aware of it too, gaze locked on the front of Aya's pants.

"Strip," Yohji commands flatly.

Aya doesn't let his hesitation show. He is willing to go along with whatever Yohji wants  
right now. Concentrated effort keeps the tremor of his fingers imperceptible, his  
movements smooth as he removes his t-shirt. Folding it neatly is second nature, but  
Yohji's disapproving glare makes him drop it in a crumpled heap. His cotton sleep pants  
and underwear quickly follow. Aya nudges the untidy pile to one side. Steels himself to  
bear Yohji's excoriating scrutiny without crossing his arms or hunching. He is only half  
hard now. He'd rather be driving shards of glass into his own flesh than standing here  
like this. Would happily do so if it would end this exposure.

Yohji lets the moment stretch, cool gaze roaming Aya's body, face expressionless.

"Get on the bed, on your stomach," he says at last.

Aya complies, turning his face away. He doesn't want to see Yohji watching him. But he  
berates himself for the sudden intake of breath he can't suppress when the mattress dips  
under Yohji's weight.

Yohji grips him by the hips, pulling upwards until Aya walks his knees up the bed. He  
tries to straighten his arms under himself too, to rise to all fours, but Yohji pushes hard on  
the back of his neck to keep his head down, face pressing against the sheet.

They've never done it this way before. Aya's back is burning with the strain and he  
squeezes his eyes shut. Yohji is kneeling behind him and Aya can hear him unzipping his  
jeans and moving his clothing out of the way.

No foreplay. No preparation. Aya grits his teeth. He can take it. Whatever Yohji does,  
Aya can take it.

Aya jolts as Yohji puts one hand back on his hip, holding him firmly in place. Then  
jumps again as Yohji's other hand finds the entrance to his body. Yohji is not being  
gentle, but his fingers are slick and he is thorough.

One controlled push and Yohji is deep inside, taking only a few seconds to establish a  
rhythm before pounding hard. Aya's chest slides with each thrust in. Friction burns his  
knees as they lose their purchase and he gradually flattens into the mattress. There is no  
pain, but little pleasure either. Aya has never really appreciated Yohji's technique before.  
Never realised how Yohji works to make sure he hits Aya's sweet spot, to make him feel  
good in hundreds of skillful, tactile ways.

Yohji is almost silent as he comes, breath catching as he shudders above Aya. Finally he  
collapses in a sweaty sprawl, and Aya breathes out in relief as Yohji's skin touches his. It  
doesn't last. A couple of deep breaths and Yohji is pulling out of Aya's body so fast that  
his eyes water from the sting.

Yohji grabs Aya's shoulder to lever him over and pull him upright.  
"Got what you wanted now?"

Aya stares at him in shock. He gave Yohji his body. Allowed Yohji to use him in a way  
Aya never expected.

"Get out," Yohji snaps.

Aya can't move. He wants so badly to make things right, but he has no words for this. No  
words for anything. Nothing left to offer.

"There's no point me telling you never to do it again, is there? So just get out."

Aya's lungs can't be working properly, because he feels lightheaded, and Yohji is fading  
around the edges. He closes his eyes tightly against the sight, sucking in breaths that tear  
jaggedly at the constriction of his chest.

"Aya?" Yohji's distant voice sounds as if it is softening into concern.

Yohji shifts closer and gentle fingers run lightly over Aya's eyelids, lingering at the  
corners.

"Aya, it's okay," Yohji soothes, a hint of panic underlying his tone. Yohji pulls Aya  
towards him, shifts them about until Aya is sitting between Yohji's legs, knees crooked  
over Yohji's thigh.

"Aya, I'm sorry," Yohji whispers, kissing the edge of Aya's mouth. "I'm so sorry baby."

Aya opens his eyes to find Yohji hovering so close he can't focus on him. It doesn't  
matter. Yohji is holding him, kissing along his cheekbones, smoothing one hand over his  
chest in reassurance.

"So sorry baby," Yohji croons, nibbling along Aya's bottom lip before sliding his tongue  
inside, warm breath spilling into Aya's mouth.

Yohji's hand drifts lower. Aya breaks off the kiss with a gasp as Yohji strokes his limp  
erection back to life. He pushes his face into the angle of Yohji's neck, comforted by the  
familiar scent of cigarettes and sweat. Yohji's free hand curls securely around his  
shoulder, and the heartbeat beneath Aya's cheek is a steady counterpoint to the crescendo  
of breath and motion.

Warmth, life, hope. Aya holds on tightly as the tension in his groin spirals to a climax.

"Yohji!" Aya yells, and he means 'sorry', but words just aren't his thing.

Aya's breathing slowly calms as Yohji uses one corner of the sheet to clean off his  
stomach. He keeps his eyes shut, wanting to stay here for as long as possible, but he can  
feel Yohji's gaze on him. When he dares to look, Yohji has an unusually serious  
expression that almost has Aya ducking his head back into Yohji's neck.

Yohji shifts away so he can frame Aya's face between two hands, looking searchingly at  
him.

"Don't ever do that again," Yohji says solemnly.

Aya looks right back into Yohji's eyes.

"Never," he promises.


End file.
